


The Aviary

by riddlemethisayepotter



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Because Deadpool, Burlesque, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dom Wade Wilson, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, M/M, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, My First Spideypool Fic, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Rimming, Secret Identity, Soft Wade Wilson, Tom Holland is my Spidey, Top Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlemethisayepotter/pseuds/riddlemethisayepotter
Summary: Deadpool decides to be a little bit heroic and impress his new reluctant bestie and mentor Spidey, by investigating an LGBTQI+ Burlesque Club run by Adrian Toomes. There's rumours of money laundering, drug and arms dealing, and apparently now sex trafficking. Little does Deadpool expect to fall head over 5 inch stiletto heels in love with their new star performer, Scarlet. Little does Peter Parker expect to encounter Deadpool at his new job as a burlesque dancer. Neither of them expect the mess of secret identities, subterfuge and stockings that comes next.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	1. Cosmos and Umbrellas

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic and it's entirely to be blamed on me watching that clip of Tom Holland dancing to Umbrella by Rihanna on Lip Sync Battle's for like the 15th time. The whole dance scene is based almost exactly on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPCJIB1f7jk 
> 
> I have no idea how long it will be yet but I know there will definitely be smut, that I can promise you. Wade has the boxes in this, they interject into his stream of consciousness a lot. I'm very new at this so please let me know if there's any little or big mistakes, weird plot holes or if you don't like something or have any suggestions! If you do like it, please leave a comment or even just kudos, I'll squeal and do Deadpool chibi heart eyes. This will be mostly universe compliant, just a few things tweaked. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> [This will denote White] and {this will denote Yellow} and they'll both be in italics.

Wade took a sip of his Cosmo and gave a pleased little squeal. Sweet enough that it made his teeth feel a little funny, but strong enough that if he quickly drank the other ten the bewildered waitress had carried over to his table, he might feel tipsy! Not to mention the 5 maraschino cherries in each drink which, yes Yellow, we know that’s not a part of a classic Cosmo, but we’re not a classic guy! Nor are we a classy guy, but anyone could have told us that. Wade swallowed the rest of his Cosmo in one gulp, cherries included, before looking around the dim club.

He had gotten a tip from Weasel about _The Aviary_ , an LGBTQ+ burlesque club in Queens. The rumour (and with Weasel, rumours were almost always true) was that the owner, Adrian Toomes, was up to some awfully shady stuff. Money laundering, weapons dealership, and the thing that really got Wade’s non-existent goat–{ _OOH, we should get a pet goat named Munch Devereaux_ }–was the whispers about the performers. Stealing from their wages, verbal abuse, and apparently dear Mr Toomes was now beginning to dabble in some sex trafficking. All in all, it seemed to Wade that Toomes was a perfect candidate for an unaliving.

At least, that’s what the old Deadpool would say. But this was the new and improved Deadpool, bestie and sidekick of Spider-man! And Spidey had strict rules about letting Deadpool patrol with him, not to mention continuing to live in New York without getting tied up in some webs and shipped to Tijuana.

[ _We wish he’d tie us up in those webs. That would be so hot_ ]

Anyway, the point being that Deadpool had been on a no kill diet, and that meant he needed to come and do some covert investigation, instead of just storming in with guns and swords blazing.

{ _Wait, how is it covert if we’re us and in our costume? The katanas alone are a dead giveaway!_ }

[ _He’s right dumbass, we stick out like a sore thumb_ ]

{ _Sore thumbs don’t really tend to stick out. Our thumbs are sore all the time and people never seem to notice that_ }

[ _Fine, stick out like a semi-detached arm. Happy?_ ]

{ _Never. Proceed_ }

Wade listened and pondered the merit of the box’s argument. He finally decided that not many people knew about the new and improved Deadpool, so for all they knew, he was just here to enjoy the show in a comfortably dodgy club. Which, incidentally, was about to kick off. To keep his cover, Wade realised he should probably be watching and pretending to be interested. [ _Sure, “pretending”_ ]

The lights in the room dimmed further and the crowd started to cheer, knowing who was going to be up first. Wade quickly swallowed six more of his Cosmos before turning his attention to the stage. A deep voice rumbled from the speakers as the spotlights illuminated the stage.

“Guys, gals and non-binary pals. Let me introduce our special opening performance of the evening. Please welcome our most exciting new performers, _Scarlet and his Spiders!_ ”

The audience cheered and clapped widely as the red velvet curtain rose. Wade forgot to clap, jaw having dropped wide open and every part of his brain capable of producing coherent thought appearing to have left on vacation without filing the proper paperwork. All he could produce was a sort of strangled gulp.

Standing on the stage was the embodiment of Wade’s dirtiest sexual fantasies and his most secret, hidden, pretend-I’ve-never-thought-that-in-my-life-I-am- _not_ -a-disney-princess daydreams. The ones where the handsomest prettiest prince in the world would be all his, to love and cherish and have wild kinky (but very loving) sex with. All this boy needed was some webs and an annoyingly strict moral compass and Wade would be proposing on the spot. As it is, he’d probably just ask him to move in instead.

The familiar strains of his favourite Ri-Ri song, _Umbrella_ , began to play and Wade’s dream boy started to dance. Scarlet had a lithe but surprisingly muscular figure, and Wade was mesmerised watching the muscles in his body rippling, a light sheen of sweat covering them that almost seemed to sparkle under the stage lights. He was a lot shorter than Wade–[ _perfect for holding up and fucking against a wall_ ]–but with sinfully long toned legs clad in sheer black fishnet stockings that teased at the creamy expanse of flawless skin underneath. Wade let out a little gasp as the boy turned and he saw his perfect, round, pert little ass clad in those black latex booty shorts and his fingers twitched with the urge to grab and squeeze it and never let it go. His mouth-wateringly broad shoulders led down to a surprisingly narrow waist, and he was clad in a black satin halter top, closed with a string of buttons at the front that Wade imagined would be awfully fun to consensually rip off his body.

Wade was smitten before he even got to the boy’s face. He had the most beautiful brown doe eyes, currently ringed with eyeliner and topped with a delicately arched brow, his thick sweep of eyelashes fluttering tantalisingly against his cheek as he mouthed the words to the song. He had a strong masculine jawline, but the delicate angular planes of his face, his high cheekbones and his luscious red mouth (currently coated in a matte red lipstick Wade needed in his life, like, _yesterday)_ were feminine in an almost otherworldly fay-like way.

Scarlet continued to dance, gyrating against the prop umbrella and shooting what Wade assumes one would call a ‘come hither’ look (if this was a Victorian romance novel which he was 90% sure it wasn’t) at the audience as they applauded riotously. He was once again too dazed to join the applause as the song reached the bridge and the boy interacted with one of his fellow performers–{ _There are other people on the stage?_ }–striding towards her with the a cocky sort of strut and almost but not quite grinding against her while she smirked back at him and oh what Wade wouldn’t give to be that girl. The boy then strode into a shallow pool of water Wade hadn’t noticed so far, turning to face the audience before holding out his arms and tipping his head back, his throat taut as (dear god in heaven) water rained down upon his head, making his hair slick and every inch of him wet, as ~~the voice of God~~ Rihanna sang:

**_So gon’ and let the rain pour_ **

**_I’ll be all you need and more_ **

The tempo built up again and his baby boy, his angelic little temptress–[ _sounds a touch too Victorian romance, we’re now only 79% sure_ ]–spun and danced and kicked up water, every inch of him dripping wet and Wade wanted to lick it all off him with the desperation of a man dying of thirst in a desert. He watched in stunned silence as the song came to a close; drinks, name, job, identity: all forgotten. The performers lined up to take a bow, half still dripping { _so there were other people on the stage!_ }, but Wade had eyes for nobody but Scarlet. He watched as his boy—[ _oh, ok, so we’re just calling him ours now?_ ]—seemed to glow under the cheers and applause, his eyes endearingly wide and bright; shining, as if the audience’s admiration and lust was a drug going straight to his head. There was something a little bit sad about him, something vulnerable and almost childlike. He was incredibly young looking, now that Wade thought about it. Abruptly, Deadpool remembered why he was here. It was altogether possible, with that shady shithead Toomes running this place, that this barely legal vibe was in fact a very not legal vibe. That was an instant boner killer if he’d ever seen one.

If making this boy his was out of the question, he should have lost interest in him altogether. That’s what he would have done not too long ago. But as he looked up at the boy on stage, Wade felt a pang in the region of his chest that he’d only recently identified as caring (or heartburn, but he was fairly sure it was caring this time). This kid needed his help. If he was underage, Wade would be getting him the fuck out of here and helping him get on his feet financially from afar. Even if he were old enough for this work, he’d help him find a less shady establishment. If he were old enough…

[ _Buddy, have you forgotten about the fact that you essentially look like sentient raw hamburger mince stuffed into a spandex suit? Even if this guy is of age, he’s not going to want to be within 50 feet of a murdering mess like you!_ ]

Damn. Wade had almost forgotten about that, thanks White. Well, that was settled quickly! He’d help ~~his~~ this boy and any other performers here being taken advantage of. Wade was pleased; this was all very heroic. Spidey would be so proud!


	2. Apple Juice and Apathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so in terms of canon divergence, basically imagine Infinity War and Endgame and FFH all happened. Then much the same with Homecoming, but just imagine it was some other villain instead of Adrian Toomes. I'm sorry it took me a bit longer to get this chapter out, I hope you enjoy!

Peter Parker practically skipped off stage smiling broadly, gratefully accepting the towel handed to him by Gwen, who was standing at the door leading backstage.

“Nailed it again, _Scarlet_ ” she teased as they walked back to Pete’s dressing room. Well, dressing cubicle. He was still new, after all.

“You think?” Peter asked uncertainly. He’d only been working at the club for a month or so, and honestly every bit of confidence he had on stage seemed to evaporate as soon as he walked off it.

“Peter are you kidding me?! People love you! Why do you think Herman’s treating you so damn well, letting you drown the stage and giving you your own little spidery dance squad?”

Herman was the club manager, and generally an all-around asshole, who reported directly to the owner, Adrian. Peter hadn’t heard fantastic things about either of them, but he had spent little time with Adrian, and Herman had surprisingly been alright to Peter so far. He wouldn’t be sending him a Christmas card by any means, but he wasn’t going to be getting a visit from a friendly neighbourhood Spider-man anytime soon either.

“Little spidery dance squad, really?” Peter snorted, flopping dramatically into the chair at his vanity while Gwen took his wig off and handed him a makeup wipe.

“I said what I said. You should be grateful really; Michelle and I were going to bribe Jackson to announce you as the ‘slinky little twinky’ before you came on” Gwen shot back. Peter dropped his makeup wipe and his jaw in sync as he stared at his friend, before the two of them burst into laughter.

Peter and Gwen had met in an advanced chemistry class at NYU. They’d been the only two freshmen in the typically third year class and had become lab partners and fast friends. They began their friendship the way all good friendships begin; memes, before quickly getting to that special place of mutual mental breakdowns alleviated by copious amounts of coffee and vine quotes.

Peter introduced Gwen to Michelle and the three of them just clicked instantly, spending a lot of Friday and Saturday evenings lying in a pile on Michelle’s double bed eating off brand Oreo’s, drinking $4 wine and watching Drag Race. Ned was studying at MIT, but when he was back over break, he got to meet Gwen too and it felt like she’d been a part of their group since high school. Even when Michelle and Gwen started dating, Peter didn’t feel out of place spending time with them. He had realised not long after kissing Michelle that one time in high school that he was gay, much to his chagrin and Michelle’s hilarity as she pointed out how often he talked about his male superhero colleagues costumes (particularly the wonders of spandex). Ned realised he was bi in their junior year, after discovering that he, too, shared more than a simple straight appreciation for the spandex super booty too.

The point being, they were like the four muske-queers (coined by Michelle and immediately made their groupchat name). Now heading into their senior year, the NY based muskequeers had recently started working at The Aviary. Gwen had started there two months ago, working weekends backstage doing hair and makeup, helping with costumes and any other odd tasks needed (emergency hair removal, last minute fake eyelash MacGyver-ing, etc). The pay wasn’t fantastic, but the rest of the staff, like the performers and bartenders, made up for it. Unfortunately, the nature of the people hired meant that it was a little bit of a rotating door. Most of the staff were disadvantaged LGBTQ+ youth, many who were couch surfing, living in isolation, barely surviving on whatever scant work they could get. That was one of the reasons The Aviary had appealed to Peter after Gwen had told them about it. It gave people, people just like Peter, a chance to work a steady job they enjoyed and get back on their feet.

Peter had been living by himself in an awful tiny apartment in Queens. The landlord was kind of a dick and Peter couldn’t recall the last time he had a shower that was warmer than lukewarm, but it was cheap and close to Aunt May while still only being a 40ish minute trip to NYU. He had moved out almost as soon as he was 18, unable to bear the thought of one of his enemies finding May and using her to hurt him. He couldn’t take that risk, so he had gotten a job working at the deli for Mr Delmar. He had been working as much as he could and supplementing his income with some photographs of Spider-man that he sold to the Daily Bugle. He did all of this on top of studying full time his double degree in biochemistry and mechanical engineering while still maintaining regular late-night patrols as Spidey. In short, Peter was a god damn wreck by the time his junior year had finished. He was just so tired, the kind of bone deep exhaustion that left you feeling like maybe a little teeny temporary coma wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Enter Gwen, telling him and MJ that several of the dancers at her new job had abruptly quit without notice, leaving them short. They were holding auditions to hire a few new dancers, and Gwen had gushed at the thought of the three of them all working at the same place in such a fun environment. Peter had groaned reluctantly, but eventually MJ had persuaded him to audition with their routine they had once performed at a Midtown talent show, something Peter’s brain appeared to have repressed for the sake of his sanity and dignity. The only time that routine ever came out was when they were white girl wasted, out at a dingy club using their fake ID’s on one of their infrequent nights out. Then, safe in the semi darkness and his inhibitions successfully wiped away with cheap warm vodka shots from the flask in MJ’s purse, Peter’s body would come to life on the dance floor. There, dripping in sweat with the music pounding in his ears, all his overwhelmed senses would quiet as he just let go and _felt_ , just moved with the music; his body remembering each sway and step even if his conscious mind didn’t.

It was a feeling he otherwise only ever experienced as Spider-man, swinging through the streets of New York city, leaping from skyscrapers, the wind rushing past him, his stomach plummeting as he dropped, his heart soaring higher than even him as he flipped and spun through the air. That carefree euphoria was happening a lot less these days, and it was remembering that feeling that ultimately made Peter agree to audition. Sometimes, he just got very tired of being Spider-man.

The responsibility now that Mr Stark was gone was just overwhelming, so crushing at times it almost made him feel like he was stuck under that pile of rubble again. Sure, Peter could protect New York reasonably well, but he could not possibly feel less capable of being Earth’s greatest defender. His regular day to day life was no better. On nights when he shivered in his freezing apartment, panicking about rent, eating his 12th straight meal of ramen and feeling incredibly, exhaustingly, heart-breakingly alone, well, sometimes he was just very tired of being Peter Parker, too.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Peter snapped back to the present as one of the waitresses, Michaela, came wandering in with a drink and a bemused smirk.

“I’ve got a drink here for you, Peter, courtesy of a thoroughly enchanted, and thoroughly weird customer!” she said in a tone that was equal parts amusement and bemusement as she placed a glass of white wine on his dressing table.

“Oh no, I’m sorry but I don’t drink at work! Sorry you had to come all the way back here. Tell them thank you though and pretend I meant it sincerely” Peter said, making Gwen snicker.

“I know you don’t drink at work, dummy. It’s apple juice. He sent you a glass of apple juice, and specifically requested it in a wine glass so you could, and I quote ‘feel a little fancy for snack time’” Michaela retorted. Gwen laughed even harder at this.

“I told you, even wearing fishnets and lipstick redder than your cheeks when any dude with a good jawline looks at you, you still have a babyface that screams jailbait!” she exclaimed in between giggles, Michaela joining in. Apparently, the universe had not punished Peter enough in his ~~eternal~~ 22 years of torment, because MJ walked in just then.

Sweating from her two hours on stage, she grabbed Peter’s wine glass off the table and took a huge gulp, before lowering the glass and raising one brow.

“Is that…apple juice?” she asked confusedly. Cue another round of laughter from the girls as Peter explained.

“So, who is this mystery man? What’s his deal?” MJ asks, smirking at Peter as he murmurs _traitor._

“Right! I didn’t even scratch the surface of how weird this guy is. Like I know our staff are a colourful bunch and god knows New York has become an incredibly fucking weird city in the last decade or so, but like this is **weird** weird” Michaela gushed. Peter, now a little intrigued despite himself, picked up a glass of water ( _not_ the apple juice) and urged Michaela to continue.

“So, he was wearing a superhero suit, almost looked like Spider-man’s costume but like, more black and red than blue and red. Also, no spider” Michaela said. MJ flashed a sharp look at Peter, and they met each other’s wide eyes before quickly looking back to Michaela, who, being a former theatre major, seemed to be enjoying her captive audience.

“But” –she said, lowering her voice dramatically– “he had these two giant swords strapped to his back! And he kind of kept muttering to himself. He left you this card Peter— _Peter,_ are you ok?!”

There was a crash as Peter dropped his water glass, hardly aware of it shattering even as his friends jumped. He could hardly breathe. Was he okay?

No. Peter was not okay. Peter was, in a word, _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos or even just read this story so far. Any response at all is like deep fried mars bars for my soul, so please leave a comment or just a kudos if you enjoyed this! Promise that our boys will meet in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, Scarlet and the Spiders is indeed a reference to the whole Scarlet Spider comic thing! I hope this is good but it could also be a giant pile of nonsense lol, so let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


End file.
